


On The Fifty Kinds of Sirius Black

by paddypads



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 23:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3547913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paddypads/pseuds/paddypads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius Black is afraid of thunderstorms. But that's alright, because after seven years, his friends have a plan for this.</p>
<p>"It is a poorly documented fact that there are more than fifty kinds of Sirius Black. Sometimes, James wonders if anyone but he, Remus and Peter have noticed this. Often, he doubts it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Fifty Kinds of Sirius Black

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be light hearted and funny, from the prompt "it is totally punk to be scared of storms" but then this happened.  
> Unbeta'd. But I did proofread! Even so, all mistakes are mine, and you cannot have them.

James has been expecting this all day; because there’s no way you don’t know when a thunderstorm is coming. The air feels like the whole world is holding its breath, and so, when the first drops of rain start to fall, he’s not surprised. He’s also not surprised that he hasn’t seen Sirius in class all day. The storm’s been on the edge of breaking since breakfast, after all. And so, at the end of Herbology, when they’re hurrying back to the castle and the first roll of thunder echoes through the Hogwarts grounds, he and Remus speed up, without discussion.

“Is it your turn or mine?” James asks, as they enter the castle, shaking the rain off their robes, and ignoring the glare Filch shoots at them.

“Yours, I think.” Remus says. “But if you want to cover my patrol then I can go?”

James shakes his head. “Can’t run Quidditch practise in this weather, or without one of our beaters.”

“Look after him, then.” Remus smiles, concern clear in his voice, and with a wave of his wand, he dries his clothes.

“I always do.” James says, and, after a brief hug, they part. James makes his way to Gryffindor tower, at a slightly hurried pace, and, to his relief, nobody stops him. Peter is waiting in the common room, looking slightly concerned.   “Where is he?” James asks, without preamble. They’ve gone through this every time there’s a storm for seven years, and there’s no need to clarify. The routine is well established, honed to perfection now, just in time for them to leave.

“Under your bed.” Peter says, with a shrug. “Been looking in every half-hour, but he tried to hex me last time.”

“Bad one, then?” James sighs. “He’s had all day to work himself up, I suppose. Did you get his wand?”

Peter holds it up, looking slightly triumphant.

“Good man. Keep hold of it, will you? He can have it back tomorrow. D’you think you could do a quick run to the kitchens, too?”

Pete nods again, pocketing Sirius’ wand. “Scones?” he asks.      

“Scones.” James nods. And then there is no more left to say, so he does his best to look unhurried as he makes his way up to the seventh year boy’s dormitory. No sense in drawing any attention to this, after all.

 

When he opens the door, and slips inside, he is expecting to have to look for Sirius. These days often involve a game of hide and seek, while James tries to find which bed Sirius is hiding under. Today, though, he’s curled up on James’ bed, whimpering, flinching with every flash of lightning and every growl of thunder. There was a time when he’d have teased his friend for this, but now he knows better.

“Pads?” James says, as softly as he can. “Can I come in?”

Sirius jerks upright, staring at him. For a few moments, it doesn’t look as if he recognises James, but then comprehension dawns, and he nods. Relieved, James closes the door behind him.

“Do you want the curtains closed?”

Another nod. Resisting the urge to use his wand, James makes his way to the window, and closes the curtains. He waves his wand, where Sirius definitely cannot see, and the lights grow a little brighter. Then, he sets it down on the windowsill, where it cannot be a threat, and makes his way back to the bed. Sirius is sitting, now, legs clutched to his chest, peering at James from under his fringe.

“Can I sit down?” James says, gesturing to the bed.

“Y-yeah.” Sirius nods, and then flinches as another loud crack echoes through the room.

James sits, careful not to get too close, and surveys his friend with concern. It’s not the first time he’s seen this, seen Sirius dealing with a storm. Only, dealing with it isn’t really what he’s doing. James has never asked why, but nothing has ever terrified Sirius the way storms do. He gets edgy from the moment the tension can be felt in the air, and winds himself up until the thunder starts, and his panic begins. The fear of the flashes and bangs, that’s not irrational, not for Sirius. James has seen him slip out of practicals in Defence often enough to know how that sets him off, and he’s heard Sirius crying out in his sleep often enough to know why. And James knows that this is a waiting game, now. Waiting, until Sirius is comfortable enough with James to curl up against his side, until James can help, and not just sit here. There’s not a lot to do but think, but there is only one thing that comes to mind.

It is a poorly documented fact that there are more than fifty kinds of Sirius Black. Sometimes, James wonders if anyone but he, Remus and Peter have noticed this. Often, he doubts it. Each different Sirius is carefully tailored to a specific person. Each teacher gets a slight different charming, ridiculous rebel. Even the Slytherins get personally chosen insults. His friends each get what the need. James has a Sirius who will encourage his genius, or his stupidity, whichever he needs. Peter has a Sirius who believes in him wholeheartedly, and who is forever willing to sneak off to the kitchens with him. Remus has a Sirius who is softer, and gentler than normal, who knows to be quiet when it’s needed. In the past, it was James’ Sirius who was most prominent when they were together, but now it’s Remus’ Sirius, and James doesn’t think he minds. After all, every kind of Sirius is his brother, and so he loves them all.

Well, maybe not all. There are two kinds of Sirius Black that James does not like. The first is the one he saw when they were fourteen, and he went to Sirius’ house in the summer. Sirius had been wearing a suit, and his long hair had been neatly tied up. He had not looked like himself. He hadn’t sounded like himself, either. Though James was used to Sirius’ clipped, crisp tones, he had never heard them so strongly. He had also never heard Sirius address anyone with anything that even approached respect before, or since. But when they had entered the house, and Sirius had shown him into the drawing room, where his mother waited, James had been astonished to see him _bow_ , to hear him address her as ma’am. It had taken James a long time to realise that what he had seen was not respect, but fear.

The second Sirius is this one. The one who shakes with fear, and looks at his friends as if he does not know them, or, worse, as if they might hurt him. James does not like this Sirius, because it scares him. It scares him to think that when he is afraid, Sirius cannot be trying to impress anyone, deliberately or otherwise, and that this Sirius, the one it breaks his heart to see, may be the real one. He cannot bear the thought that whatever Sirius’ parents have done to him could have hurt him this badly, and that there’s nothing James can do about it.

 

There is no more time for musing now, though, because the eternity of waiting is over, and Sirius has leant against him. Slowly, so slowly, James wraps an arm around him, and cards his fingers through Sirius’ hair.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, “it’s all alright, Pads, I’ve got you.” He keeps going, with every reassurance he can think of. Eventually, the tension slips from Sirius’ shoulders, and his breathing is easier. The rolls of thunder are less frequent now, and sound further away. They sit in silence for a long time; Sirius curled up in James’ arms, until, eventually, he sat up straight.

“You feeling okay?” James says, frowning.

“Yeah.” Sirius smiles, a little weakly, and nods. “Much better. I- thanks. For coming.”

“As if I’d have left you.” James shakes his head, with a grin. “Do you feel up to eating? You’ve not had anything all day.”

After a little consideration, Sirius nods. “I’m bloody starving,” he says, decisively. “Give me a minute to get dressed, yeah?” he picks at the hem of his pyjama shirt, and now James looks at it, he realises is one of his Quidditch jerseys. The giveaway is that it has “POTTER”, and a number one in large letters on the back.

“’Course.” James grins, deciding that it is probably best not to ask about the jersey. “Want me to wait outside?”

“What am I, a girl?” Sirius shakes his head, laughing softly, and makes his way to his wardrobe. James goes to get his wand from the windowsill while Sirius wriggles into clean jeans and pulls on a t-shirt

“You were wearing my jersey,” James points out.

“Bigger than mine, isn’t it?” Sirius shakes his head, and then pulls his robes over his head. “Better for sleeping in.”

“Girl.” James says, and he feels that his point is only emphasised by the fact that Sirius is now checking his hair.

“Wanker.” Sirius says. But he holds James’ hand, hiding it behind their robes as they go down the stairs, so James knows he doesn’t mean it.

 

Remus and Peter are waiting for them. Remus is losing spectacularly at Gobstones, and Peter is patiently explaining where he’s going wrong when James and Sirius thoroughly disrupt the earnest conversation by flopping down into the two empty chairs around the table.

“I was promised food,” Sirius says, without preamble.

Peter is prepared for this, and sets a large wicker basket on the table. “Knock yourself out,” he tells Sirius, with a grin. “I told the elves it was for you and they went a bit mad.”

Sirius doesn’t reply, because he’s busy eating scones. James smiles. “Don’t eat too fast, it’d be really embarrassing if you choked on a scone.” He says, patting Sirius on the shoulder. He is rewarded with a glare for his concern. James relaxes, finally. His Sirius is back, and James feels a flood of relief. He’s okay, for now, and in the end, that is all that matters.

 


End file.
